


ain't like those other guys you hang around

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Midnighter (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything that fucking pretty is never a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ain't like those other guys you hang around

**Author's Note:**

> Minor issues with sexuality. Not too complicated or angsty, but I thought I'd put that here in case that sort of thing isn't kosher with you.
> 
> Title: Prince <3

M’s in the middle of grading papers when someone starts knocking on his door, singing some obnoxious pop song out in the hallway. Probably one of the damn freshmen locked themselves out of their room again he figures, but no, when he opens it there’s some kid he doesn’t recognize with a tootsie pop sticking out of his mouth, checking out one of the freshmen girls that walks by. 

“Oh,” he says when he sees M standing there, like _he_ wasn’t the one who banged on his fucking door. “You’re not Brandi with an I.”

“Definitely not,” M says. “Try three doors down. But don’t --”

“Crap,” the kid mutters when he spots someone down the hall and runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “Um, can I...maybe...just -- _help._ ”

Then he’s slipping under M’s arm before M can catch him and worming his way into his room like some kind of super flexible ninja. 

“What,” M says, glaring at him. “Do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry,” the kid says. “Can you just -- shut that door?” Then he’s sneaking past M _again_ and slamming the door shut right before some girl with long black hair walks by. 

“So,” he says, leaning against the door like it saved his life. “I kind of went home with her last night.”

M crosses his arms over his chest. “And that’s a problem why?”

“Well,” the kid blushes, rubs the back of his neck. “I kind of woke up in her roommate’s bed?”

“Jesus,” M mutters. “I ought to throw you back out there and let her kick your ass. Helena, right? Women’s field hockey?”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, picking up one of M’s books and frowning at it. “Is this even in english?”

“It’s Rilke. So no,” M says and takes the book out of the kid’s hands. “You can go now.”

“You’re a TA?” The kid says, ignoring him as he squints at the marker board on M’s wall. “How old are you anyway?”

“Old,” M says, pushing the kid towards the door. “Now get off my lawn.”

“Wait, _wait_ ,” the kid says. “What if she’s _out_ there?”

“Then you’ll get what you deserve,” M says and shoves him out the door, locking it behind him after he closes it, then goes back to the papers he was grading, the urge to write _dumbass_ across every one of them even stronger now for some reason.

The peace lasts for approximately six minutes and then there’s another knock on his door.

“Jesus mother of,” M mutters and slams his pen down, strides across the room and swings the door open. “ _You._ ”

“Me,” the kid says, pushing his hair away from his forehead and frowning. “Helena was in Brandi with an I’s room.”

“Christ, what’d she throw at you? A shiv?” M says, brushing his thumb over the kid’s forehead to check out how deep the cut is.

“A lot of stuff,” the kid says miserably. “But I think it was the unicorn figurine that got me.”

M laughs, he can’t help it. “Get in here,” he says. He’s pretty much used to playing nursemaid to idiot college students by now, keeps a fully stocked first aid kit in his room for shit just like this. “What’s your name anyway?”

“Dick,” the kid says and when M lifts his eyebrow he just shrugs. “You can try, but I bet I’ve heard it before.”

“I’m gonna take that as a challenge,” M says and Dick follows him over to his bed and sits down, dabbing at the cut on his head with his fingers and frowning at the blood.

“Quit _poking_ at it, dumbass,” M says, slapping his hand away, then he’s squeezing some neosporin on his finger and smearing it over the cut on Dick’s forehead. “I honestly don’t see how you freshmen make it past the first year in one piece.”

“Excuse you,” Dick says, turning his head to glare at M and getting neosporin all in his hair. “I, sir, am a sophisticated junior.”

“Uh huh,” M snorts. “So sophisticated you still let your dick do all your thinking for you.”

“I hope that wasn’t your attempt at a pun,” Dick says, scrunching his face up.

“Nope,” M says, reaching for a butterfly bandage. He stocked a lot of these last winter when the idiots thought riding down the stairs in a laundry basket was a great idea. “Just an observation.”

“Usually it makes better decisions,” Dick says and M snorts.

“Somehow I doubt that.” He stretches the bandage out over the cut and Dick winces. “Alright. You won’t bleed to death or die from some nasty tchotchke infection. Probably.”

“Awesome,” Dick says and hops up. “Thanks for the fix-me-up -- uh --”

“M.”

“That’s not a name,” Dick says, picking up the cd’s on the edge of M’s bed and making faces at them. “That’s half of my favorite candy.”

“Sorry we can’t all have blatantly phallic names,” M says. “Now go. For real this time. I’ve got piles of papers to grade and -- stop touching my shit, jesus.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Dick says, putting down M’s copy of _Ham on Rye_ after thumbing through the pages aimlessly. “I’m going, I’m going. But hey, I’m over in Wayne Hall if you ever wanna --”

“Talk about Tolstoy?” M smirks. 

“Uh,” Dick says. “Or play beer pong. Whichever.”

“Say goodbye, Dick,” M says, rolling his eyes, and opens the door for him. 

“Goodbye Dick,” Dick says, flashing him a grin right before M shuts the door on him. 

“Idiot,” M mutters and tries to go back to his papers, but his concentration’s pretty much shot and he spends the next hour reminding himself that anything that fucking _pretty_ is never a good idea. 

 

: : :

 

M’s never been a religious person, but when he runs into Dick twice in one month he decides there has to be some higher power, if only because someone up there is clearly fucking with him. Somehow he and Dick managed to coexist on the same enormous campus together for two years without running into each other and now all of a sudden M feels like he can’t turn around without seeing the idiot doing handstands in the quad. 

The first time he has his earbuds in so he doesn’t have the misfortune of hearing Dick yell his name across the coffee shop, just looks up from his laptop to see Dick’s face grinning at him behind it, one of those sugary cake pops with sprinkles all over it hanging out of his mouth and he’s wearing his shirt inside out like it’s laundry day. Knowing what he knows about Dick, though, he probably just threw it on that way. 

“ --it was you,” Dick’s saying when M yanks his earbuds out. “So I thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” M deadpans and goes back to typing.

“Hi,” Dick grins, leans across the table and peers over the edge of M’s laptop, his hair falling in front of the monitor. “Whatcha doing?”

“Working on my thesis,” M tells him, then looks up just in time to see Dick licking pink frosting from the tips of his fingers. 

“Your friends are leaving you,” he says, watching the group of kids Dick came in with shuffle out the door, and Dick says, _wait up assholes_ and takes off without another word, leaving his over-priced, over-sugared ice latte behind.

 

: : : 

 

The second time M runs into him he’s at his job on campus.

“Wow,” Dick says, coming up behind him while he reshelves books. “A lit major and you work in the library? You must _really_ like books.”

“Are you lost?” M asks him, sliding a copy of _Frankenstein_ on the shelf. “The cafeteria’s on the other side of the campus.”

“Ha ha,” Dick says, hopping on a table across from him. “I’m writing a paper on the history of concussions in sports and my laptop kind of...had a technical difficulty.”

“Meaning you spilled beer all over it?”

“Meaning Wally and I were seeing who could do a headstand longest and Wally fell over and catapulted it off my bed and it’s sort of in two pieces now.”

“Anyone else,” M says, pushing the cart up the aisle. “I wouldn’t believe that story, but somehow it doesn’t seem that far fetched for you.”

“Wally helped,” Dick says defensively. “Anyway. I just finished doing all the writing I’m going to get done today and Wally said there’s this party at kappa frappa something or other. You should come when you’re done playing sexy librarian guy.”

“Sexy.” M starts, then shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I’ve got papers to grade, papers to write, and a thesis to work on. Got all my partying out before grad school, sorry.”

“Lame,” Dick says and hops down off the table and there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment on his face that has M’s throat itching to change his mind, tell Dick he’ll see him there, but he really _is_ fucking swamped. “More girls for us then.”

“Mm,” M says. “You have fun with that.”

“We will,” Dick says, giving him a funny look. “You have fun with your lame books.”

“Books don’t get drunk and puke all over my shoes,” M says. “So I will.”

“Boring,” Dick teases and sticks his tongue out at him and M -- really hates that he can’t control his fucking facial expressions around him. 

“You’re like a twelve year old,” he says, picking up another book.

“Well I guess you better stop staring at my ass, then,” Dick says, then gives him a toothy grin right before he does a backflip down the aisle and gives the librarian a heart attack. 

“Jesus,” M mutters, wondering not for the first time what he’s done to deserve this. 

 

: : :

 

M’s still up working on his thesis at two when someone knocks on his door. It’s not totally unexpected. It’s Saturday night and he actually would’ve been worried if at least one of the idiots hadn’t come stumbling back to the dorms, forgetting which room was theirs. 

“Grayson,” he says, sighing when he opens the door and sees him standing there, scrubs his face with the palm of his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come,” Dick says, his words slurring together just a little. He’s not completely fall-down drunk, but his eyes are a little red-rimmed and he’s teetering enough that M has to reach out and keep him steady when he tries to walk through the door. 

“You said you wouldn’t,” Dick continues as M shuts the door behind them so no one comes out of their room to gawk at them. “But I thought -- why didn’t you come?”

“Told you,” M says. “I’ve got more important things to do than kegstands and body shots.”

“But,” Dick says, pulling his shirt up to his nipples. “Some hot girl licked salt off my stomach right here.”

M stares at the dark trail of hair beneath Dick’s navel for longer than he should, then clears his throat. 

“Yeah, sorority girls aren’t really my thing.” M says, then Dick’s walking right up into his space, grabbing M’s arm and tracing the lettering on his forearm with his finger.

“I know,” he says, looking up at M and licking his lips. 

“Neither are,” M says, looking down at him. “Pretty, confused college boys.”

“Who’s confused?” Dick asks, blinking up at him.

“You are,” M says, summoning every ounce of willpower in him to peel Dick’s fingers off of him. “Not only that, you’re drunk, and I’m not interested in being anyone’s hilarious college story they tell their friends about over mimosas ten years later.”

Dick’s face when he looks up at him is so fucking confused it’s almost adorable. M _almost_ thinks about giving in, maybe just this once. Maybe just to see the look of shock on Dick’s face once he realizes what he’s asking for. Maybe just to hear that soft little gasp when M opens his mouth up and slips his tongue inside. But he’s been here a million times it feels like, dozens if he’s being factual, and he knows how this scenario always plays out. They fool around a little, never anything serious, usually only when Dick’s drunk or horny, and Dick ends up fucking twice as many chicks to prove -- whatever. 

Maybe it was fun the first couple of times, when M could pretend it was just getting his dick sucked and he didn’t care what they thought in the morning, but he grew out of that pretty quick. You can only hear _don’t tell my girlfriend_ so many times before it gets old. 

“You probably don’t get told no very often,” M says. “And because you’re insanely pretty, I’m going to make this easy on you.”

He cups the back of Dick’s neck and leans in, licks across Dick’s mouth, then slips his tongue inside as soon as Dick opens up for him. Dick makes a soft, _hot_ sound when M sucks on his tongue, then starts pawing at M’s chest like he’s trying to climb him when M’s hand presses against the small of his back. 

“Now,” M says, forcing himself to push Dick away at arm’s length. He can still taste salt and margaritas on his lips. “Go back to your own room, sleep it off, and pretend like this never happened.”

“But --” Dick starts, then puts his hand on his stomach when it starts to rumble. “Oh boy.”

“Oh hell no,” M mutters. He knows that look, even if he’s never seen it on Dick’s face before. He’s seen it plenty of other times, usually right before he gets someone else’s vomit on him. He grabs the trashcan next to his desk quickly and shoves it in Dick’s face right in time. 

“Here,” M says, handing him a gatorade from his mini-fridge when Dick looks like he’s done. He also looks like he wishes he were dead and the RA in him takes over. “You can sleep it off on the futon over there.”

Dick just makes a sort of gurgling sound at him and crawls over to the futon in the corner, rolls onto it and passes out. 

When M wakes up for his morning class, the gatorade’s empty and so is the futon. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised.

 

: : : 

 

M spends the next three weeks locked in his room cramming for exams, only leaving his room for his shift at the library or to grab more caffeine. He only runs into Dick once before winter break and Dick’s surrounded by his gaggle of friends with a redhead in his lap, so M pretends like he doesn’t see him, pulls his hoodie up, and keeps walking. 

When the campus finally clears out and all the kids go home, M stocks up on beer and tv dinners, dvds out of the five dollar bin at Target, and forgets all about school and gorgeous, blue-eyed idiots for a few days, just vegges out and relaxes for a change. 

A couple of days before Christmas he gets a text from Andrew reminding him he’s always welcome at his parents house for the holidays and when M never replies to it, his phone rings, Andrew’s stupidly beautiful face smiling at him because he hasn’t had the balls to delete him out of his contact list yet. 

“Hey,” M says when he picks the phone up. 

“Hi,” Andrew says and just the sound of his voice makes M feel warm all over. It also makes him feel like dying. Funny how that works. “Did you get my text?”

“Yeah,” M says. “But --”

“I know,” Andrew interrupts him. “I get it. But I just hate the idea of you being alone on Christmas.”

“You know I’m an atheist,” M says, getting up to throw the tv dinner from last night in the trash before roaches start to move in with him. He just bets Andrew’s bible thumping parents would _love_ to have him over to sing happy birthday to the baby Jesus or whatever people in the midwest do. 

“I haven’t forgotten,” Andrew says, laughing a little, and it makes M’s entire chest seize up. “But, M--”

“You need to go,” M says, cutting him off before he can say anything else. “Because you know if you keep talking I’m just going to say yes.”

“Would that be so terrible?” Andrew asks and M sighs, sits down on the edge of his bed and puts his head in his hands. “I miss you.”

“I know,” M says. His vocal chords feel like they’re straining with each syllable. “It’s not enough.”

“I know,” Andrew says quietly. “Merry Christmas, M.”

“Merry Christmas, Andrew,” M says, then hangs up the phone. 

He lies there for who knows how long staring up at the spots on the ceiling, watching the blades on the ceiling fan go round and round. Maybe he should have said yes, flew out to Bumfuck, Nowhere and had Christmas ham with Andrew and his perfect family. Maybe this time they could work it out. Maybe --

“Maybe you’re a moron,” M mutters quietly and closes his eyes. 

He’s still lying on his back, his phone resting on his stomach, when it rings again. M sighs and presses the speaker phone button to answer it.

“Andrew,” he says. “We --”

“Who’s Andrew?” Dick’s voice asks through the speaker and M sits up on his elbows, knocking his phone onto the floor.

“Christ,” he mutters when he picks it up, putting it to his ear. “Grayson, how did you even get my number?”

“I got friends,” DIck says. “Plus it’s online.”

“Ugh,” M says. Right. He added his number on the private page for the dorm a while back. “Well, I know you don’t have an emergency and don’t need to be let in your room, so what are you calling me for?” 

“I’m bored,” Dick says, like the petulant child he is. “There’s nothing to do here.”

“So why didn’t you call one of your actual friends?” M asks as he grabs a Red Bull out of the mini fridge. “The freckley one. Or the one with the fantastic rack?”

“Kori?” Dick giggles. “She’s in Cabo. I thought you didn’t like those anyway.”

“I don’t care who you are,” M says, settling back on his bed, his back to the wall as he pops open the red bull. “Nice tits are nice tits.”

 _”Anyway_ ,” Dick says, like he’s totally annoyed the conversation hasn’t been centered around him for the past thirty seconds. “Everyone’s busy doing their own holiday thing. No one will talk to me. There’s no parties to go to. It’s the _worst._ ”

M laughs at him. “Poor baby. So mistreated by mommy and daddy doing his laundry and cooking his meals for him.”

“That would be awesome,” Dick says. “If they were, you know, alive.”

“Fuck,” M says. “Dick. I didn’t --”

“You didn’t,” Dick says. “Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a couple of seconds of awkward silence when M has no _idea_ what he’s supposed to say next and just sits there like a dumbfuck, holding his Red Bull and staring at the poster on the back of his door until Dick says, “Hey,” and kind of startles him. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Dick says and M’s breath catches a little. His mind instantly supplying him a visual of Dick’s perfect, tan skin, swirls of dark ink all down his ribs or on his hips. 

“That so?” He says, trying for casually disinterested.

“Yep,” Dick says and M’s just glad that upbeat, cheery-to-the-point-of-insanity tone is back in his voice. He doesn’t know what to do with a morose Dick Grayson. “A robin. My mom, she used to call me that. When I was little.”

“Sounds good,” M says. “Where you thinking of getting it?”

“Dunno,” Dick says. “You have so many, so I thought I’d ask you. Where do you think it would look best?”

M closes his eyes and tries to picture it: a pretty little bird on Dick’s pretty little bony hips, pictures brushing his thumb over the ink and his mouth waters at the thought. “Shoulder hurts the least.”

“I was thinking about getting it on my side,” Dick says. “I don’t care how much it hurts. I kind of --”

“Need it to?” M asks before he even registers that he’s opened his mouth to speak. 

Dick’s quiet for a minute before he says, “Yeah.”

“Hip is good too, then,” M says, just to fill the silence. “Even I still want to pass out from rib pieces.”

“Geeze,” Dick breathes out. “And you’ve got a lot.”

“Mm.”

“Hey, M?” Dick says after a beat.

“What?” M asks him. He knows he needs to get off the phone with this kid. This aimless conversation has already gone on long enough and it’s only a matter of time before one of them says something stupid, something Dick can’t pretend away or blame on booze.

“Can I ask you a question?” Dick asks and M sighs, lets his head thud against the wall behind him.

“Dick --”

“Why don’t you like me?”

Okay, M wasn’t expecting that and it kind of catches him off guard.

“What makes you think I don’t like you?” 

“Oh _I_ don’t know,” Dick says. “Maybe because you look like you’d rather jump off a building than talk to me most of the time.” 

“You talk a lot,” M says. “It a lot to process.”

 _”M._ ”

“I like you fine, moron,” M says and kind of hates the slight fondness even he can hear in his tone. 

“Okay,” Dick says. “Then why did you stop kissing me?”

_Christ._

“You remember that, huh?” M says, crunching the empty Red Bull can in his hand and tossing it across the room into the trash. 

“Yeah,” Dick says. “It’s my gift. So, why’d you stop? Because I know you like guys, so the only thing I can figure out is you don’t like _me._ ”

“You are not this stupid,” M mutters mostly to himself. “Look,” he says when he speaks up. “Maybe I have a history with straight boys who think sucking dick is all part of the college experience. It’s not personal.”

“Okay,” Dick says slowly. “But what if I want it to be part of my college experience?”

M runs his hand over his faux hawk. He can’t believe they’re doing this now. “That’s all fine and dandy for you,” He says. “Really, that’s great. Figure out what you like, Dick. Just don’t use me to do it.”

“But,” Dick says and M almost cuts him off, opens his mouth to tell him he’s hanging up when Dick says, “It’s just. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

M closes his mouth. 

“I’ve messed around with guys before,” Dick continues and okay, there’s another thing M wasn’t really expecting. “But I never really -- I think about your tattoos all the time. Especially, you know, at night.”

“Jesus, Dick.”

“How many do you have? No, wait. Don’t tell me. I want to see for myself. Can -- can you send me a picture of them?”

“Dick…”

“Please?” Dick asks with all the innocence of a fucking angel, crooked halo and all. ‘It’s _Christmas,_ M.”

“Brat,” M grumbles and sets his phone down so he can tug his shirt off, then picks it up and snaps a quick photo of his torso and sends it to Dick. “There. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh wow,” Dick breathes out as soon as the picture goes through. “That’s. M, I want...”

“What, Dick?” M asks, laying his head on his pillow and drumming his fingers on his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. “What do you want?”

“I --” Dick starts and about that time is when someone starts banging on M’s door, probably one of the other kids in the dorm that didn’t go home for holidays accidentally started a fire when they were smoking up or something. 

“Gotta go,” M says and hangs up on Dick before he can finish his sentence. 

 

: : :

 

The next week M gets back to working on his thesis. Kids start trickling in little by little with all their fancy new toys, but it’s still quiet enough that M can get hours of work done without being interrupted. 

At night he tosses and turns, fights jerking off thinking about Dick until about the third sleepless night, then just gives up on pretending like he’s got any self control and gets his hand around his dick, thinks about burying his hand in Dick’s hair and fucking his perfect mouth, making a filthy mess of him, and when he comes he has to bite down so hard on his lip so no one hears him that he tastes blood in the back of his mouth. 

“You’re pathetic,” he says to himself in the dark, but even that feels half-hearted, like Grayson is wearing him down even hundreds of miles away. 

 

: : :

 

Two nights before classes start back up, M’s taking a break from writing and eating out of a giant bag of Doritos while he catches up the Game of Thrones he missed last semester. When someone knocks on his door he thinks seriously about just sticking his head under his pillow and praying they go away. All fucking day’s it’s been nothing but, “Oh my god, M! I forgot my charger at home! Oh my god, M, I can’t find my hair straightner!” He’s about to go postal on the whole damn building. 

“What _now_ ,” he says when he swings the door open and before he can even register what’s going on Dick’s pushing him through the door and grabbing his face and kissing him _hard_ , the kind of kiss that leaves your mouth sore and bruised for days.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dick says, scraping his teeth over M’s jaw and M backs him up so he can kick the door shut, then presses him back against it, squeezes his hip. “About what I want.”

“Yeah?” M growls against his throat, licks the skin there.

“Uh huh,” Dick says, then he’s pulling at M’s shirt, yanking and tugging at it until he gets it over M’s head, then throws it somewhere behind him. “Oh my god you’re hot.”

M makes a noise that isn’t even human sounding, then pushes Dick’s shirt up to his neck, slides down to his knees and mouths a wet trail down his belly. 

“I want _you,_ ” Dick says, scraping his nails over M’s head when M opens his jeans up and presses his face against his boxers. “And I think you want me too.”

M looks up at him as he tugs Dick’s boxers down, wraps his hand around the base of his dick and smirks. “You think?”

“Oh god,” Dick says and throws his head back when M swallows him down. “Oh my god. That’s. You’re. M, _fuck._ ”

M takes him deep, then slurps all the way back up. He swirls his tongue around the head and tastes Dick on his tongue, dips his head to lick and suck on his balls, and when he takes him back in his mouth, takes him down so far his nose brushes the dark curls there, Dick chokes on a scream. When M throws one of Dick’s legs over his shoulder and rubs his finger over Dick’s hole Dick comes so hard he bangs his head on the door, lets out this strangled groan when M just swallows and swallows around him. 

“Oh my god,” Dick says. “You have got to teach me how to do that.”

M raises his eyebrow at him. “Thought you said you’d done things.”

“Yeah,” Dick says and it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing or if his cheeks are just flushed from coming so hard. “But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t like _that._ ”

“Maybe,” M says, licking around his mouth to make sure he got everything. “You should let me be the judge of that.”

Dick swallows like he’s nervous and M thinks yep, here it comes, but then Dick’s licking his lips and his eyes are going _dark_ and he’s reaching down and fumbling with M’s button and zipper and M --

Is a complete idiot, but he grabs his wrist and says, “Don’t do this if you aren’t sure.”

Dick rolls his eyes at him and says, “I’m sure,” then he’s pushing M back so that M has to sit on the edge of his bed, kneeling between his legs and pulling his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He blinks up at M through those ridiculously long, dark eyelashes and wraps his hand around him and M lets out a shuddery breath.

“You got no fucking idea what you do to people, do you?” M says and Dick just _smiles_ at him, dips his head and flicks his tongue over the tip, just enough to lick away the bead of precome there. 

“Do you,” he murmurs, then he wraps his lips around the head of M’s cock and slowly slides him into his mouth. He doesn’t take him very far, but he gets his hand on M’s balls and squeezes and kneads them while he tongues the underside of his cock, teases the slit until M starts _dripping_ precome onto his tongue. 

“Fuck, Dick,” he gasps and buries his hand in Dick’s hair, closes his eyes and relishes the wet, hot slides of Dick’s mouth on him, the teasing little flicks of his tongue that are driving him fucking crazy. Dick moans around him when M pulls him down -- just a _little_ \-- and Dick’s hand tightens around his balls, and for some reason that gets Dick to pick up the pace a little. M can hardly _see_ straight when Dick starts bobbing up and down on his cock, sucking him messy and sloppy, getting drool and precome all over his face, and when he adds his hand to the mix, M knows he’s about to lose it. 

“Dick,” he says, squeezing his shoulder when he feels it start to build. “I’m -- fucking close.”

M bites almost clean through his lip when Dick just moans around him and takes him _deeper_ , gagging just a little bit, then pulling back and keeping at it.

“Dick,” M growls out, clenching his fists in his bed sheets when he feels Dick’s throat flutter around him. “You _need_ to pull off. Your fucking mouth, it’s -- you keep doing that I’m going to come.”

Dick looks up at him then, his mouth shiny with spit and come, and swollen from being fucked, his eyes wide and staring up at him like he _wants_ this. “Dick, I’m -- _fuck_ \--” 

M’s cock twitches in Dick’s mouth and he’s helpless to do anything but watch as Dick swallows around him, the bits he doesn’t get dripping down his chin. 

“Sorry,” Dick says when he pulls off, sitting back on his knees and dragging his hand over his mouth. “I’m still kinda messy at it.”

M doesn’t say anything, just grabs Dick’s face and kisses him, fucks his tongue down his throat and licks the taste of himself out of Dick’s mouth, licks his lips and chin clean until Dick crawls up into his lap and they make out, slow and lazy, for so long M loses track of time.

“So,” Dick says a few moments later, propped up on his elbow. “Are you going to stop being a jerk now?”

M sighs, rolls onto his side and presses his mouth to one of the bruises he left on Dick’s throat earlier. “I may have some unresolved issues.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, running the tips of his fingers through M’s hair. “All the cool kids do, really.”

“You’re an idiot,” M says, but again it’s with that fucking _fond_ tone that Dick brings out in him, then reaches over and turns off the lamp by the bed. 

“Yeah,” Dick says, grinning. “But you like me so what does that make _you_?”

M yawns and pretends to ignore him. “Say goodnight, Dick.”

Dick grins and wraps himself around M, laying his head on his chest, his fingertips finding all over M’s tattoos in the dark. “Goodnight, Dick.”


End file.
